


Broken Work of Art

by IAmNotOneOfThem, thepriceswepaid



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Omegaverse, abuse recovery, alpha!Bond, omega!Q
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepriceswepaid/pseuds/thepriceswepaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TEMPORARY HIATUS -- Q's history makes working as MI6's Quartermaster painfully difficult, and he doesn't want to become attached to anyone, especially one of the Alphas. Bond is the only person stubborn enough to break down the walls Q has put up around himself, but even then, will it be enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This fic is a collaboration between myself and the lovely IAmNotOneOfThem, based off of a prompt she filled earlier in the year that decided it wanted to morph into something bigger. Updates will come as we have time to edit this monster own into something coherent. Enjoy!
> 
> 7/21 edit: I've taken out the warning for Non-con/Rape, since it's not pervasively featured within the body of work for this fic. Any chapters that touch on it will be marked. Thanks for reading!

Thirty six hours. That's how long he had been on English soil before being called back to MI6 to handle another disaster. First it had been Bogotá, now it seemed it was Marrakech. After a while the settings all blurred together and the only thing he saw was their eyes, desperate and pleading in their final moments. After a while he had stopped questioning why. He needed new equipment. He'd actually manage to bring back the gun from his previous mission, but the radio had slipped his pocket and sunk down somewhere in the Chisaca Lake along with the mark. It really wasn’t his fault; if Q _really_ wanted his radios to not get lost one way or another, he’d find a way to have them permanently attached to the agents. Best not give him ideas, then, He stepped off the lift and crossed the floor of Q Branch, making his way to his Quartermaster’s office.

  
Being the head of Q Branch was a challenge in itself, and if there was one thing Q seemed to like, it was a challenge. That didn’t change the fact that several aspects of his line of work were difficult on a more personal level than they should have been. No one had ever heard of an Omega in such a position of power before, and the fact that Q was unbonded in a sea of equally unbonded Alphas served to make things interesting on a good day.

Today was not one of those days.

Q looked the most uncomfortable James had ever seen him as 004 leered at him from across his desk. The Omega had taken a few steps back to put some distance between them, but 004 seemed intent on infringing on his personal space. The older agent wondered if his younger counterpart was oblivious to the metallic tang of fear, or just daft. Evidence pointed to both in equal measures. Bond cleared his throat, making Q jump as he stepped inside. "004. You were requested to report in and debrief half an hour ago."

Q would have never thought that the appearance of another Alpha, particularly 007, would let him relax like that but surprisingly his shoulders sunk down as the other agent slunk out, leaving them alone. If one could call being under surveillance from Q's minions alone. He let out a long breath, getting defensive again. Bond had helped him, okay. That was something good, even if it meant the Alpha wanted something. Everyone did. "Double-oh-seven", Q greeted through gritted teeth, taking another step backwards, back hitting the wall. _Fuck._

Bond noted the tension still radiating off of Q and held up his hands, almost placatingly. “I'm just here for my equipment." Equipment. Equipment, right, the mission. Q reached out to the box he had prepared and stepped to his desk, taking a few deep breaths, calculating to the highest number of pi he could reach. "Have you already been informed about the mission itself?" he asked, calm again, mask slipping back into place.

"Just came from the briefing." He gave him a lazy smirk. "Short mission, shouldn't take more than a few days." Q nodded and read the information he had been sent by M on his tablet, not once letting Bond out of sight. He was being careful, not getting too close, putting the gun designed for the mission on the edge of the table and pushing it towards Bond. He didn't want to make any body contact, nor did he want to get too close. Bond must have wanted something, everyone did, and he was an Alpha.

He couldn't tell the reason, but Q was tense. James almost wanted to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Almost. Instead, he took the gun and holstered it. "What, no radio this time?" He took a step back. "I'll check in with you when I land." He was almost out the door when he paused and looked back. "Let me know if he gives you any more trouble." And with that, he was gone.

He looked up and blinked at Bond as he went away, a bit surprised by his words. Well. That was unexpected. Working in MI6 difficult with every Alpha registering as a threat to him. Most of the times it was alright. He avoided body contact, kept the desk between himself and an Alpha when talking. 004 had thrown him off, but now with the agents out of his office he was back in his element. Q went back to work, waving for one of the interns to bring him another mug of tea and preparing himself for the monitoring he'd have to do once Bond landed.

The flight was long, and uneventful. He actually managed to get some sleep between occasionally scanning the rows for any signs of threat. He cleared the airport with no issue, and set to work on scouting out the area as directed. As promised, he turned on his earpiece upon checking into his hotel. "So far, no trouble. Any developments you can see?" He didn’t bother with formalities. Q didn’t, had never encouraged it or any other sort of familiarity beyond sharp witticisms and pointed commentary. He still had to smirk when he heard the bored tone on the other end of the connection.

 

"Your mark hasn't moved so far, still is in his mansion," Q replied near immediately, sipping at his tea, typing away with his free hand. He was the one monitoring Bond only because Mallory had insisted on it; the agent tended to go off radar, disappear completely or throw his earpieces away. New minions would get a panic attack from that, the poor souls. "The address of your hotel is in the envelope."

 

"Already checked in, but thank you." He was smirking; Q handling his missions meant that his work was already going to be easier. He had a lot of respect for the younger man, even if the other held little more than contempt for the agent. It was the memory of the fear in his eyes that did it, James would later tell himself. He rarely cared enough to ask personal questions, never got close enough to anyone to justify it, but somehow the words came out before he could stop them. "Q, ah... Is everything alright?"

 

"You were supposed to check in the moment you land, and not after you checked in,” Q said dryly, turning around for a moment, reaching out to his tablet. Also keeping track of the Alphas' motions, he had three in his team, and he didn't even trust Betas or other Omegas, so he checked on them too. The question took him off guard and made him blink, stare at his cup in confusion. Had Bond really asked that? "Yes, why shouldn't it be?"

 

"Apologies." He shrugged. At least he -had- checked in. He sighed. "You looked anxious when I collected my effect earlier. You can't really blame me for a being a bit concerned."

 

Q only nodded to himself and pulled up some maps, hacking into the camera system of the hotel, easily finding Bond's room. Good, he really was there, what a surprise. The Omega swallowed the bitter question about why Bond should care, being more worried about that Bond wasn't going to drop the subject, ignore it. "I'm fine,” he said sharply, distant.

 

"No, you're not, but I'll drop it." Now he was definitely suspicious, but there was only so much he could do right now if Q wouldn't talk to him. His tone softened a bit. "I realize I'm not one of your favorite people to be around, Q, but you always make sure I get home in one piece. I owe you for that. Just, let me know if he bothers you again." He disconnected the earpiece before Q could respond, unsure why this bothered him so much.

 

Q was about to open his mouth and protest, or argue, or do anything to make Bond stop talk about something Q wanted to ignore and banish out of his mind, but the connection was cut off and Q let out a groan of annoyance. He definitely had to make earpieces which couldn't be turned off. Turning around, Q instructed a minion to inform him would Bond get back into contact and got up, needing time to himself to decompress, and calm down.

 

It was several days before James felt significantly less frustrated enough to get in contact with Q Branch. Night was falling in the former imperial city, and he was on his way in. His cover was the party being hosted at the mark's mansion, and he was dressed for the part. His irritation mounted when he was told he would have to deal with one of Q's minions for a time, their supervisor having stepped out at some undetermined point. It was his own fault, and he wouldn't be surprised if Q was irritated at him, but he still would have liked to have him be the one to walk him through. He found he missed his voice, and he wasn't about to examine that too deeply. Everything was going perfectly until suddenly it wasn't, and a gunfight broke out in the middle of the gala. James managed to take out his mark, but was forced to find an escape route when the main entrances were compromised. The minion -- K? Or something -- was far from helpful. That wouldn't have been a problem, had he not been trying to lose three military-trained bodyguards.

 

Q had been in his office for a while but then had been sent home by M, where he still was as he got a phone call saying that double-oh-seven was in a problematic situation which urgently required Q's immediate attention. Meaning he had fucked things up and Q had to fix it. He went to the HQ as soon as possible and got there half-asleep, downing a cup of tea to get awake. He put on the headset, got onto the laptop and signed in, hacking into security cameras. "Take a right,” he said without any greeting, hoping it wasn't too late for that already, "Then a left. You have to kick a door open and then you can get out through a window in the lowest story."

 

He heard Q's voice, and followed his instructions immediately. He could hear his former guide catching Q up on what had happened; in a last-minute development, a rival of his mark had apparently had the same idea to ambush the party, and Bond had gotten uncharacteristically caught in the crossfire. He even heard them admit they... Hadn't quite been paying attention to the situation. This was why James really preferred Q handling his missions. He finally got past the door, and out the window. He managed to get out and get to his vehicle just in time. "Well, that could have gone better," he grated out. He'd assess the damage later. For now, he was just glad to hear his voice. ...He really wasn't going to think about that. Really.

 

Maybe Q should have apologized for not being there, but he would never apologize, not anymore. Not after... He shook his head and the grip around his mug tightened, knuckles white. He arranged a flight for the evening and made sure no one was following Bond, giving an anonymous tip to the police that they should check the house and take care of everything. Nothing pointed at Britain, the country was safe. "Your flight back goes in ten hours," he said after typing a bit, letting the ticket be delivered to Bond's hotel room. “I’ll have a word with K regarding her handling.”

 

James went to laugh, having finally reached his hotel room. It came out as a harsh cough. Definitely a cracked rib in there, then. Irritating, and painful, but he could handle it. "Good to know. Glad to have you back." Okay, make that two cracked ribs. At least that meant he'd get a bit of a break once he got back, in theory at least. He sighed and laid back on the bed. For once, he didn't bother disconnecting the comm. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet to find bandages and ice. Might as well take advantage of the down time while he had a bit of it.

 

It didn't take a genius to know that Bond was wounded, but then he always was, so it was nothing to be surprised of. Q sent a message to medical so they could prepare a bed for Bond, even though he was sure that he wouldn't even appear there. "Medical is preparing a bed for you," he informed Bond, knowing he hasn't disconnected yet. He knew that Bond wouldn't go there, he hated medical just as much as Q did. But it was procedure and procedure meant comfort, because it was structured, organized and routine. Something Q clung onto, embraced.

 

James just grunted in response, pushing some if back into place with a sickening pop. The relief was instant. "No, I can handle this myself." Still, he had to smile and it was evident in his voice. "I knew there was a reason I prefer working with you." He winced, pressing on another rib. Not broken, which was good.

 

Q went back to his typing, writing a short report for M because he knew Bond wouldn't. "Standard procedure and protocol forces me to, double-oh-seven,” he said coolly, before blinking, "And that would be?"

 

"You won't make me an exploding pen, you leave me in the hands of minions who get me shot, and now you tell me you only work with me because of protocol. I knew I wasn't your favorite, but now I feel I should just assume you outright dislike me, Q." His tone was easily kidding. "But to answer your question, it would be because if it had been you, I might have been spared the extra headache." He pushed a final rib into place with an extra loud crack for emphasis. At the very least, he wouldn't need Medical.

 

Q flinched at the crack and took a deep, shaky breath, drinking tea to calm himself down. The noises triggered memories, and those triggered panic, an easy concept he despised and hated, and he hated that he was so weak against biology. He drank more tea, trying to think of something to say. "I'm glad you depend so much on me," he relented, joking dryly as he carefully choosing his words, ready to take them back and apologize should he have enraged the Alpha in any way. Q held his breath, awaiting a reaction.

 

James only laughed tiredly. "I really do. I guess I should return the favor and actually return the equipment you give me in one piece more often." It suddenly hit him just how tired he was. He laid back on the bed. "I'm going to leave the comm. on, but I'll probably just sleep. If it's no trouble, keep me posted about the situation. If I need to get out earlier, I'll be counting on you to warn me."

 

"Noted." Q took off the headset for a moment and let a minion take over again, carefully going around the man to not touch him. He went into the kitchen, made a fresh kettle of tea and then settled down in his office, going through some files, checking his budget, the numbers. Everything was correct, just like expected, so he went back to the main-office, took over again and prepared himself for a long night, starting to program, his glance always laying on his minions, not trusting them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q wonders, Bond watches, 004 makes a move. Bond makes one in turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated a bit early. Much thanks to Helena for beta-ing :]

Q had been in front of the computers the whole night and the next few hours, not once returning to his flat. It wasn't only about getting work done - here he was safe. He was alone at his flat and would have to take the tube or get a cab, none of those options one he would be happy about. In fact, the sheer thought made him want to throw up, hide and never get out again. He got the information about Bond's arrival first, and since it was too early for many minions to be there, it only were Q, two Omegas and a Beta working as Bond stepped in. Q looked up and tried to hide his tension, the kind always washing over him when an Alpha or male Beta entered the room. "Double-oh-seven", he greeted, sipping at his tea. It tasted more of sugar than tea.

 

"Q." Bond could tell Q was as tense as ever, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask why before he thought the better of it. Instead, he took the gun from his shoulder holster and set it on the table before sliding it to Q. "Worked like a dream." Q only nodded, glad that his gun had worked and was in one piece. The budget cuts ahead of them worried him, especially with Bond's tendency to loose his equipment and needing replacements more frequently than the other agents combined. "I already handed over the report to M, and I'm on leave until further notice. Something about injuries sustained in the field." He gave him a wry smile, covering the sudden pang of... Something he couldn't quite put words to just yet.

 

"If that's all, I'll let you get back to your work." He turned to head out of the branch, but only after placing a small box on the edge of the table by the gun. It was a box of tea he had picked up during the day he'd gone off the grid, a sort of dual apology and "thank you" gift for his Quartermaster. Nothing extravagant or pretentious, but something Q would at least appreciate. It was wrapped in simple craft paper, and had a hot, spicy smell.

 

The Quartermaster frowned at the box and opened his mouth to ask what it was, because he had only given Bond a gun and nothing more, but he only reached out to it as Bond was nearly out the door, his minions looking at him curiously. Q unwrapped it carefully as if it might suddenly bite him, and took the lid off the box, inhaling the scent deeply. He was surprised as relaxation washed over him. Tea. Fresh tea leaves, exotique in their scent. Q looked up. "Why?", he asked warily, wondering what Bond wanted in return. Everyone wanted something, no one did an action without the wish to be granted something for it, and Bond wasn't any different. He was an _Alpha,_ after all.

 

Bond turned and gave Q a cavalier grin. "Reminded me of you, and I figured you would like it." He smirked easily and excused himself from the room to head down to the training room. Medical leave be damned, he needed some way to work out this mounting tension.

 

Reminded him of Q? The Quartermaster blinked in confusion, mumbling a numb 'Thank you' before he could stop himself from doing it. Bond was out and the Beta in the room offered to make Q tea, which the Quartermaster accepted with a silent nod. _Reminded him of Q._ What the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? He finished working on a gun and then went to the shooting range, having to get through the training room. He didn't stop as he saw Bond, only as he was in the doorframe to the shooting range, ready to close the door and lock it if needed. "You are supposed to rest."

 

The agent paused mid push-up to look up at Q. "Since when have I ever done anything I 'should' be doing?" He moved to using his other arm, grunting when a spasm of pain shot through it. Resting, right. He did a few more anyway, then moved through some simple stretches. "And it may surprise you, but the idea of going back to an empty flat isn't all that appealing right now."

 

Q could understand him, even though Bond and him had other reasons for that. The Omega didn't want to be, couldn’t be, alone no matter how much he might want it, and Bond was driven by something else. He put a few bullets into the gun he wanted to test and watched Bond for a moment, releasing the safety just in case. Would Bond try anything, Q would shoot. And he was more than capable of shooting even a moving target. "Seeing you are in pain I'd advise you to rest," he  simply said, testing the weight of the gun in his hand, before he turned around and went into the other room. He put on some earphones, safety glasses and then began to fire.

 

The double-oh watched him work. He'd never really realized how good a shot Q was. He knew all of the equipment Q designed had to be tested before being cleared for the field and released, he just hadn't known Q was the one to test it himself. He waited until he was done and had taken off the noise cancelling headphones. "I wasn’t aware know you were quite the marksman,” he said sincerely.

 

Q turned around, eyes widening as he saw Bond watching him. He nearly took a step backwards, grip around the gun tightening, finger at the trigger trembling. He flipped the safety back on and put the gun away before he could accidentally do something stupid. Like shoot Bond out of a panicked reflex. "You have to be able to protect yourself as the Quartermaster, especially as an Omega," he said carefully, taking off the safety glasses.

 

Bond noticed the reflex, but kept still. He didn’t want to startle him any more than it seems he already did just by being there. He did relax a bit more when Q set the gun down a moment later. "I can only imagine.”

 

Q didn't like the way the conversation went, but he was alright with it as long as Bond didn't come any closer. Since he didn't have a gun on him, Q had an advantage, and as long as he would stay close to the table with the weapons, he would be fine. "There are several precautions I take," he mumbled quietly, half-turning around so he could keep Bond in his line of view as he cleaned the Walther, surprised to note that it was a new one in the series he was working on for Bond. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was relieved when he saw Bond sit down on one of the benches nearby to grab a set of weights. "What sort of tea is the one you gave me?"

 

"I bet." He knew a good deal of the Alphas were unbound, though most of the Betas had been paired off. There was an argument that bonding took the edge off of and Alpha's natural talents. While he didn’t believe it much, enough of the agents did that it seemed to be the norm. "Cinnamon," he said after a while. "I'd had it once before, the last time I was in the area. It's quite good." He would have said more, but then he looked up. Bartlet, Agent 004, slid into the training room with a feral sort of grace. He saw Q, and immediately began to head over.

 

Q hadn't noticed 004 and blamed Bond and the conversation for it, because as he saw the other double-oh it was already too late to reach out to the gun and release the safety. Some people managed in under three seconds but it would take Q too long, and he only moved away from the agent, horrified as he followed him. Q's eyes went wide, hands shaking. He looked at the door leading onto the corridor and calculated his chances of getting away, but then forced himself to stay calm, and stood there stiffly. "Double-oh-four", he nodded, before looking at Bond, "Double-oh-seven, if you'd excuse me." He was about to walk away but suddenly there was a hand on his wrist and Q yelled, jumping backwards and twisting to get away.

 

James was on his feet the second he saw 004 go for the Quartermaster's arm. His own hand shot out, grabbing 004 and forcing him back. When the agent didn't take the hint and moved to cut off Q's escape route, James felt an unreasonable surge of protectiveness, especially seeing Q's panicked look only worsen. He moved, pushing himself easily between the two of them as a barrier. "Go," was all he said, glancing back at Q with a curt nod. Q would never say it out aloud but in that moment he was so thankful for Bond's presence and for once he listened to what he was being told, rushing past 004.

 

Bond was more than concerned, but following Q wouldn't have helped. If he had to guess, it would make it worse. 004 was seething and left in a hurry. Bond took no time cleaning up and heading to the locker room. His next stop was M's office to have a brief discussion with his superior regarding the inappropriate conduct. A hour later, he slipped out and made his way down to Q branch. Q was still locked in his office, and from the looks of it, everyone was a bit worried. He tapped on the door twice, then slid a note under it, and left.

 

The paper took Q off guard and he looked up, lowering his hands off his face. He reached out to it carefully and blinked as he read it over. _“If he bothers you again, I’ll handle it.”_ Of what use was it for him? Getting rid off potential enemies and threats? Killing off the other Alphas so he could get Q to himself? He didn't know what the reasons were, but he felt a bit of calm and saved the number in his phone. Then he left the room, ignoring everyone in favor of making tea. He only noticed which tea tin he had taken when the scent rose. _Cinnamon._ It was more calming than Earl Grey, and surprisingly good for something spicier than he would have picked. He drank four cups of it over the next several hours, finally finding it in him to calm down and put the incident from his mind. Never the less, he was glad when M more than conveniently saw fit to send 004 out on a string of back to back missions, giving Q a week of peace.

 

He was aware when Bond returned to MI6 after three days' leave. He wasn't fully recovered, but 004 sudden absence meant the agent was needed, regardless of the status of his recovery. 004's mission was monitored by one of the few Alphas Q had in his team and he was grateful for it, did it mean he didn't have to deal with him for a while. The box of tea was empty and Q on sugar, caffeine instead of blood running through his veins. He made the new equipment for another mission which wasn't Bond's, because even though the agent didn't have a mission yet, they had to be ready for one coming in. Q went to the shooting range again, where he, queerly, found Bond. He stopped in the doorframe, the tiny gun made for female agents to be hidden under their dresses in his hand, and hesitated. "Thank you for your help,” he said slowly.

 

James looked up from where he was doing floor exercises, and gave Q a disarming smile. "Not a problem. He shouldn't have bothered you." He got to his feet with a bit of effort. He really shouldn't be prepping for a mission, but he'd come out of things in worse shape, so he was pretty confident he could handle his next assignment. "With any luck, he won't be back until after I've completed my next assignment."

 

"His mission is supposed to end in two weeks,” he said, walking over to the shooting range, keeping enough distance between himself and Bond. He turned around to the range, and tried not to panic as he couldn't see the agent anymore, hand shaking, and bullet not hitting the target. Q let out a long breath and shook his head, putting the gun away again. No gun training when on caffeine, right.

 

"Hm, he may be back before I am, then." Bond went over to the punching bag and worked it for a little while. He wished he could do something to ease the tension he saw written all over Q's face - tension that only seemed to get worse around the agents he worked with.

 

Flinching at the first punch, Q leant against the table and watched the Alpha but it soon became too much and he turned around, closing his eyes. He reached out into his trouser pocket and took out a small bottle with pills, swallowing one dry. He was close to his heat, and given his position and current unbonded status he had to take his suppressants all three days, and the closer the heat got the more he took. It was so far from healthy it was laughable but he hated it. Hated everything about it.

 

Bond couldn't have seen him flinch, couldn't have seen how uncomfortable he was, and definitely couldn’t have seen the pills he was taking. He stopped after a while and took a step back. A spasm of pain shot through him and he winced, pressing a hand against his ribs experimentally. He couldn't wait for his next assignment to be over. With any luck, he'd get time off to adequately recover. Something seemed off about Q and had from the moment he’d walked in the door, but he couldn’t pinpoint it to be sure.

 

Q had accidentally been looking at Bond the moment he winced and pursed his lips, torn between his natural instinct to try and help, and between the fear of getting closer, doing anything which may have provoked Bond into thinking that he could do with Q whatever he wanted. The Omega looked down nervously and bit into his lower lip, yawning again, hiding it behind a hand.

 

"I don't thing you are in the right condition to go out into the field", Q said, looking up again, "I’ll see what I can do in terms of finding a suitable replacement." It was stupid to send their best agent out when he wasn't fully recovered, not when he was this obviously in pain, and therefore at risk of messing up the mission. He might even die, which shouldn't have made Q feel worry, but it did.

 

"Can't. It was the trade off I agreed to for M sending 004 out on extended assignment." He gave him a trademark half-smirk. "They can't spare any agent who passed field-clearance. I'll be fine, though I appreciate the concern." Everyone always assumed Bond could handle himself, so someone showing concern was rare. "Though, I won't complain if you can find a way to give my gun a bit less of a kick."

 

The Omega blinked, wondering why Bond would risk his own life just so 004 was sent away and so Q had a  bit of peace. It didn't make any sense to him, not when Bond didn't try to make a move on Q. He hadn't shown any sign for wanting to mate Q or do anything alike, but then this could just be a trick. To lull Q into the belief of having someone in front of him who didn't want to hurt him, only to attack when he was at his weakest.

 

Q's grip around his own wrist tightened and he blinked his sleepiness away, making a mental note to drink more tea. "I'll see what I can do,” he walked out of the room and went into the kitchen, going through the cupboards to find a box of Earl Grey or even coffee, he didn't care. His next stop was the R&D division.

 

He finished the gun for female agents first, but then tried to do something to make the mission easier for Bond. Q even was close to making him an exploding pen before he caught himself and stopped, forcing down some food since he hadn't eaten anything three days, and then began working on the gun. Less kick, more bullets in the ammo, and it was easier to hide.

 

Some minions wondered about what he was doing but he finished it without anyone asking, and even as the hours passed, he forgot to sleep again, preparing everything for the mission. He had been on his feet for a week by now, running on tea and sugar, and was getting into new clothes after showering, slipping the cardigan over his shirt just as Bond entered.

 

Bond immediately took a half step back, giving Q a bit of space. He looked absolutely dead on his feet.  "You know there's a problem when I'm the one about to make a comment on the virtues of self-preservation." He murmured. "It might be a good idea for you to go home, get some rest. I'm counting on you to have my back, after all."

 

"Your mission will start tomorrow," Q mumbled, adjusting his collar and then putting on his tie, blinking to keep himself awake and his eyes open. He had to be the one monitoring it to make sure everything would go alright, and he wouldn't allow himself a moment of weakness. He had been worse before. "My competence isn't affected by anything at the moment, I should be fine." Q ran a hand through his hair, reaching out to the coffee. They were out of tea.

 

"Leaves you ten hours to get some sleep. I'm sure the rest of Q Branch can handle themselves. I don't doubt your competence, only your ability to stay awake for two more weeks without a break." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed lazily against his chest. "If you don't, I'll be distracted on assignment worrying about you. Just consider it." He shrugged nonchalantly and turned to go without further comment.

 

Q was dumbfounded. Did James Bond just admit he worried? Did he just... or was Q hallucinating? He watched Bond go and blinked, standing there for several moments. He had a point. Would he want to be with Bond 24/7, he would have to stay awake for two weeks, meaning he had to get some sleep now. Ten hours should be enough, a nap in between the mission breaks. He walked into Q-branch and told R to take charge, then went to hail a cab. He was afraid of going home, where he would be alone.

 

  
Bond was relieved when he heard Q actually had gone home. He did the same, and managed to get a few hours of sleep himself. He grabbed an extra tin of Earl Grey. He hadn't had time to open it, and Q drinking coffee usually meant he was out. If it kept him awake, it was an easy sacrifice. He was just working through some basic stretches when his mobile rang.

 

His flight had been moved up two hours, and R would be supervising until Q returned. Bond made it to MI6 with enough time to pick up his gear from R -- noting the gun was different from his usual model -- and leave the tin on Q's desk without anyone noticing. An hour later, he was on his flight to South East Asia. For the first time in years he could help but think this was the first time he had a reason to want to come back quickly.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be back to posting regularly now, especially since 1/4th has been re-written! All mistakes are my own since my Beta/co-writer is off to the wilds of Berlin.  
> Anyone who promos and lets me know on Tumblr will get a little bonus: I (losttoys) will answer one plot-related question regarding future updates!

The phone rang, but Q was entirely too far gone to hear it, curled up in a tangled mess of blankets. Every door and window was locked twice, and his the door to his bedroom was deadbolted from the inside. When he finally did stumble out of bed several hours later he had several missed calls, and a voicemail from R informing him that the agent had been outfitted and sent into the field earlier than anticipated. He cursed, pulled on the first set of clothes he found hanging in his closet, and headed in. He noticed the box on his desk before anything. He blinked at it and opened it. There was no note; he didn't need to guess to know who it was from. Bond could be nice, for an Alpha. 

On the other side of the world the agent in question had landed without issue and spent the next week stalking out his mark. It was hot, and absolutely nothing on the mission seemed to go as planned. First, the mark didn't show for four days even though they had been guaranteed their intel was sound, then when the mark finally _did_ make an appearance, it was to start a firefight in a crowded marketplace. He had a constant headache, but for the most part it wasn't anything he couldn't handle without Q's help. It was pure, unadulterated hell. James was honestly relieved when he finally boarded the plane back and was able to rest. He'd aggravated all of his previous injuries, adding two broken ribs to everything, which meant he wasn't able to avoid a trip to Medical this time, but first he had some equipment to return.

Something was off but Q had no idea what, and the itching under his skin made him wonder about if he caught something. A minion had gone because of flu a few days ago, so maybe he got that, or something else, though he didn't know what it could be. There also was something off about the Alphas lately, though he had no idea what it could be since both Alphas in Q-branch were bonded. Only 004, who had arrived a week before Bond, made him wonder what was going on. His clothes felt too heavy on his skin and his skin was hot, and he felt shivers rush down his spine, make him grow restless and irritated. Flu maybe, he thought, preparing everything for Bond's return, the report he had to fill out and everything else.

Bond sauntered easily into Q Branch and placed the gun down on the table with a smile. "You outdid yourself this time." Something felt very off, and he couldn't put his finger on it. Q looked worse than usual, he noted, edgy, unable to sit still. If it had been anyone else, he might have guessed some sort of withdrawal, but MI6 required random testing for that sort of thing as far as he knew. 

"Thank you", was the mumbled reply as Q played with his cup absently. "I made some adjustments to better compensate your current athletic level." He took the gun and did a check, seeing that it was undamaged and complete, just like the rest of the equipment Bond had been given. That was almost impressive. Q tucked on his collar and played with the hem of his shirt, feeling nervous, twitchy even. And for once it had nothing to do with the Alpha on the other side of the desk.

"My comment regarding you taking care of yourself doesn't just extend to when I'm on assignment, you know."  
"I was at home last night", Q all but hissed, suddenly angry. "I had ten hours of sleep." He turned around and put the gun away, cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders. Oh god why was it so warm in here, everything was so wrong and warm and it annoyed him to no end. "And I ate. I _took care_ of myself." He pushed the file over and then blinked, letting out a long breath. "I'm sorry, I don't know..." He took a step backwards, bracing himself. James just held up his hands.  
"Don't apologize. I just worry, is all." He gave up with a shrug and set a small box down on the table - more tea, as it were. "I suppose I should take my own advice. I'll be in Medical." He stepped out of the room with nothing more than a curt nod, leaving Q more confused than he'd been all week.

"Thank you", Q mumbled hesitantly as the agent walked away and took the box. More tea, and it smelled more exotic than the one Bond had given him before. He still felt wary and tense about this all, but it was a nice gesture. Whatever it meant. Q turned around to his screen again, hoping that whatever was wrong would just fade and stop. It didn't. A few hours later he was starting to sweat and felt uncomfortable, hardly being able to focus on work. The minions around him stared, the two Alphas had gone home earlier than usually and the other Omegas asked him if he wanted to take a break. It was only when 004 came into Q-branch with a grin and asked Q if he had forgotten to take his pills - those precious suppressants he couldn't live without -- that the Omega understood. And swore.

Agent 004 didn't go, nor did he move away from Q. He seemed deaf to the Betas asking him to stand down, to step away from their Quartermaster. He was trying to move him into a corner where he didn't have a chance to get away. Q tried to get to his office as soon as he realized he was going into heat. How was that possible… he _had_ taken his medication, had done nothing which could have messed with it, yet here he was, and 004 as about to... He flinched as 004 wrapped his arm around his's waist and pulled him closer, trying to push him away. He managed to move out of his arms and into his office only to have the other follow him. He was dimly aware of someone paging for help, but it wouldn't matter. Internal security would hardly be a match for a double-oh, and no one would help an Omega, would stop an Alpha from claiming what was rightfully theirs.

James was in Medical when he heard the page, and he pushed off the bed before they had finished stitching him. He got to Q Branch in record time. The panicked looks told him everything he needed to know. "Call Medical," he growled, who hastily nodded and fled the room. He crossed the room in several quick strides and slipped into Q's office. He grabbed Bartlet, yanking him backwards. The agent aimed a punch at one of Bond's broken rib and he went down, feeling it give. It took one look at Q's face to have him back up on his feet. It was less a struggle between to agents but a power brawl between two Alphas. He swung hard at the younger agents jaw, knocking him unconscious before he even hit the ground. 

"Are you alright?" He coughed, little flecks of blood decorating his white shirt. Q just shrank away from him, still too on edge to register the Alpha as anything but a threat. He held up his hands, glad when Medical came and collected the fallen agent, and let out a pained sigh as he waited for Q to calm down a bit. "Q. He's not going to bother you again, but you really need to get out of here. Go home, Q." He coughed harshly, more blood staining his shirt. A punctured lung would get him a few days rest, at the very least. He sunk down on one knee, groaning. He'd definitely overdone it. He looked up, and his heart broke. 

"I told you you looked like hell," he gave him a pained smirk. "Q. Calm down," he commanded quietly. "I'm going to head back to Medical, see what they can do for this. _Go home,_ Q. If any of the other Alpha's come by here, I won't be able to help you, and I don't want something to happen, alright? Just, get out of here. Please." He pushed himself to his feet, keeping a steady hand on his side, and took a step backwards, away from the Omega.

Q was surprised at Bond's behavior and openly stared at him, because they were alone, and Bond was with an unbonded Omega in heat as an unbonded Alpha. He was wounded, but he still could have done something. But he didn't. Q hesitantly got up, shaky on his legs, feeling embarrassed and disgusted and horrible, especially since he had taken his pills but something had gone wrong. He carefully walked past Bond, legs giving in but two other Omegas and a Beta helped him and brought him up, a female Omega driving him home. Q locked himself in his flat, groaning out. Fuck fuck fuck.


End file.
